It always came down to this, three in the pile, one in each hand. Fern had at least that and a fresh arm. The wind made the trees creak and leaves rustle while slowly turning the wet dust on my neck to a hardening, itchy coating. Dirt clod fights used to be fun, ending in the requisite creek swim to clean off, not anymore. Other side of the tracks in our town actually meant other side of the Parson's Creek. There were the kids who lived in town and the kids who lived on a few farms out past the creek. Mostly tenant farmers, Dad said were dirt poor. I never really understood the meaning of that phrase since they lived on the land but "dirt" seemed to be used off-handedly as a qualitative term, for the tenant and the dirt. I also don't know when the rivalry started between the "Townies'' and the "Dirts". It seemed like forever cause I couldn't remember the one that divided us. Funny how we accept the conditions we live in as a given instead of changing them for the better. Fern probably would have been the first girl I kissed. Fat chance now. She's a dirt. I'm a townie. "We don't have to do this Fern," I said, hoping she would maybe see reason through the layers of dust furrowing my brow.
"Chicken?" She taunted. And an echo from behind the berm chimed in with a cacophony of clucking.
Fern turned to shush her flock. Flushed with rage at the insult, I let one fly. A hard clod without any grass and no gravel, caught her square in the mouth as she turned back toward me. I saw her eyes close involuntarily as the clod exploded against those kissable lips. Fern waivered but stayed up, a single tear cutting a stream down her cheek in red, the new color layer of dust. If I had had any hope of being with Fern, it was gone for sure. I don't know how many trips to the soda jerk this would take to make right.
"My turn," she hissed through a split lip. She spit blood on the clod with disgust, then winged it at me. There isn't any rule about dodging, it just would have confirmed her earlier taunt. I took it square in the chest, an explosion of dust filling my nose. I had a sneezing fit, which caused my eyes to water. Little Piney, Ferns younger brother was out, but stuck his head above the berm to look at his sisters shot. He saw the rivulets down my cheeks and started a litany of "Crybaby, crybaby....," to which the rest of the dirts joined in. I shifted the one in my right to the empty left. Fern saw this but didn't have time to warn Little Piney. Only a fraction of his head was above the berm, but it was enough. Piney didn't have any hair to cushion the blow on account of the fact that he had lice most of the time and was clean cut down to the pate. When the clod hit, one of the little veins on his scalp exploded with it, spraying blood and dust in a plume like a red halo around his head. His litany ended in mid sing and he slumped below the berm. Fern dove behind the berm, there was much whispering and muffled angry words.
"Time out!" Ferns voice was shaky from behind the berm and more emphatic, "time out!" She yelled, "We have to take Piney back to the house, now!"
From behind me Bobby Tillman jumped up and cried, "We win, you lose!" I socked Bobby in the stomach to shut him up. "Dammit Bobby, he's bleeding. I think I really hurt him," I said. "So what?" Said Bobby, "He's a dirt!" When does a twelve year old get so vicious? Piney was eight but had a good throw if you weren't watching for it. I watched them rise from the berm and the four of them started through the brush onto the cultivated field.
I yelled after them hoping they would hear a hint of apology. "Do y'all need help?" All I got was a blazing stare from Fern.
The next day at school was really uncomfortable. The two room schoolhouse was divided by grade, the younger on one side, the older on the other. Fern sat two seats ahead of me in the same row. We had assigned seats but the room might as well have been polarized. I also knew that Little Piney wasn't at school.
Recess was usually good hearted taunting about who was gonna win the days dirt clod fight. Today, each group gravitated to the far sides of the playground. We speculated what the days outcome would be. The twins started planning where they were gonna get the best dirt clods.
"I'm not going today," I said.
"If you don't we won't get any for you," Mike said, the more freckled of the two. "How do you expect to put those dirts out of commission if you don't get a good arm full?"
"No. I'm not fighting today," I said.
The townies descended on me with queries and scorn, each ending with pleadings and taunts. Bobby Tillman shushed everybody and eyed me seriously before he spoke for everyone else. "You know we need you. You have the best arm. We have even a better chance since they are short one man," Bobby said.
"This has gotten out of hand. I hurt Piney and we don't know how bad. I don't want to play anymore and neither should any of you," I said. Bobby sensed the shift and took the lead.
"OK. Fine. We don't need you," Bobby said.
The other townies backed from around me to Bobby's side and made me odd man out. They didn't know what it felt like, didn't understand. There was no sense in trying to argue the point.
After school each group left the school in a clutch. I watched them go, heading for the road where the bridge crossed Parson's Creek. I had to walk that way home and didn't want to go afoul of either group, so sat down on the steps and waited for them to disappear over the hill. Mrs. Slocum, my teacher, came up behind me and asked, "Not going to the creek today?"
"Nope," I said.
"Good for you," she said. "So what are you waiting for?"
"Waiting for them all to go over the rise. Then I'm going to see if Little Piney is OK," I said.
"Good for you again," she said. "Well, I will see you tomorrow. I hope you find what you want there."
Mrs. Slocum, shouldered her book bag and walked to her bicycle. I wondered what she meant by that but didn't really think on it further. I got up and made my way down the road. I thought about who might answer the door when I got there and then thought about going home instead but stayed my course. When I got to the bridge I looked down the creek to see if there was any evidence of the fight but because of the bend, it was not in sight. I resumed my march down the road, trying to think of what to say when I wound up at their mailbox. Wilcox was awkwardly painted on the side of the box. I moved up the path worn through the weeds in the front yard. I could see that the door was open behind the screen. I tread up the steps, each creaking a different chord of wood on wood as I went. I knocked on the screen door frame, slapping it against the door jam. There was rustling inside. A thin, haughty woman came to the door. She was not unattractive but looked warn by time. Her calico dress was dirty and a little wrinkled. I could see Fern in her face, mostly the eyes. She said, "Well?"
"I came to see if Little Piney is OK. I'm the one who hurt him," I said. I looked her in the eyes. Dad said it showed integrity and sincerity. I hoped she would see it. Then, the hard part. "I am really sorry."
She looked hard at me, as if trying to make up her mind how to respond. She said, "Wait here."
I shifted from foot to foot thinking about whether she might call my Mom or worse, my Dad. While I was agonizing over the prospect, Piney came to the door. He had a gauze headband holding a mound of cotton to the side of his head. He stood there quietly. Waiting.
"So I wanted to say that I was sorry about your head and hope you are OK," I said. "Will you be returning to school soon?"
"Ma says maybe on Thursday if my head scabs over." "You throw hard," he said.
"I was mad. I hate being called a chicken. I guess everybody does, 'cept chickens," I smirked.
Piney smiled in spite of himself. "Yea, 'cept chickens. His face returned to seriousness and asked, "Do you think they are fighting without us?"
"I don't know, but I'm not going anymore. I'm done," I said.
"Really? What about your friends? You townies won't leave us alone," he said.
"What are they gonna do if I don't go? I mean, really, think about it. Without us, it won't be fun anymore," I said.
He smiled again. "OK."
We said goodbye and I turned to go, as I jumped the steps to the path and started home, I heard the screen door slam and feet slapping behind me. I stopped and turned around. Fern was behind me at the mailbox. She said, "Are you serious about not fighting anymore?"
I thought she was at the creek. I was a little stunned to see her and tongue tied.
"Were you serious about what you said to Piney?" She said.
"Yes," I said. That was it. I had brain freeze as I looked into her eyes and saw her mother, then noticed her busted lip.
"So what are you gonna do after school tomorrow instead?" She said.
I looked her in the eyes and took a chance. "Thought I would get a soda at the malt shop. Wanna go?"
She eyed me oddly and said, "Yea."
I turned and went home, not wanting to press my luck but felt a rush of accomplishment and said to myself, "That's one."
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